I've started work; back in school, but back in high school. This time from the other side of things. I'm going to describe as best as possible the sensation of returning as a teacher. Its a trip, and I don't know if I'll be able to describe the nuances of this new shift in my relation to schooling.
High school for me was a disaster. I was a horrible student, my grades were always poor. They were close to straight Fs from grade 8 until I was in university. In university, I wasn't the best student, but I was an exceptional academic. My professors were pleased to have me in their classes even if I wasn't getting the best grades. I don't have the discipline to be a student. I've always done my own thing, sat through class, and contributed in my own way. In high school, that never worked for me. I got pushed through the grades, but never with a credit. They told my parents at numerous "parent/teacher" meetings that they thought it was because I was bored with the material and that I'd grow into school. They'd say, as long as they pushed me through the grades, I would eventually find my place. I didn't, not until university. But going back to High-school, I understand why it didn't work for me. I was never interested in learning in a classroom in the ways they expect you to learn. But I don't hold it against them, they have their methods. A majority of the time it works. Students do acquire something in High-school, and thats the discipline to learn. If my problem with learning is discipline, I never learned that lesson.
I woke up early on Monday. 6:20 AM, I'm out of the house at 7. I didn't sleep well, I've got a bit of a cold and its hard for me to fall asleep any earlier than 1-2 o clock, let alone with the anxiety of knowing that I'm starting work for the first time the next day. Its still dark out when I'm walking to the train station. The commute is a hassle, I figured I'd try a new method. It turns out this method is slow. But its an interesting commute. I took a train that follows the Seine south east for quite a while before cutting back west to the station that I need to get to. I'm on the train for maybe 40 minutes, sitting on the second level of a train, watching past the river into the distance as the sun rises. Huge, breaking past thin clouds along the horizon before rising above them and disappearing.
I get to my station in the adjacent suburb, now I have to catch a bus towards my school. The bus is already there waiting for me. It takes maybe 30 minutes to get near to where I assume the school is. I realize that I have no idea where to get off, only the general area, and the general area in which to walk through winding houses that all look the same. I eventually find my school, an hour and a half late, and I left with just about an hour to make the commute. Everyone at the school is understanding that I'm late, but I can't once I have my own classes that will be waiting on me.
My first day at school I feel like an anomaly. I am one. I'm too young to be a teacher, too old to be a student, and the high-school politics that are in place don't apply to me. Curious eyes follow me in the halls, groups of girls cat call, groups of boys snicker. And for those less brazen, they just whisper.
I don't actually start teaching until next week, so my first day was just following english teachers to their classes and introducing myself, then sitting in on classes to get a hint of how students behave. It was awkward, I'm awkward! The first class, I'm told while walking to the classroom, is fantastic. The students are polite, quiet, smart, and seniors. This means nothing to me, I don't quite understand how high school works yet. We get to the classroom and they are, quiet, smart, interesting, and engaged. I introduce myself, and all the expressions on the students change, I guess until that moment, they didn't know what to make of me, sitting there silently in the corner of their classroom. Its like getting a french lesson backwards. I never took english grammar, I went to a french elementary school, and never really took an english class until university, where they don't teach you grammatical rules. It was interesting to see english broken down into rules, like I've had french broken down into rules for me.
Following the teacher to her next class, she warns me that the next class is hell. The students have no discipline, its difficult to teach, and no matter what she does, its impossible to accomplish anything. She tells me that she will be more like a military instructor than a teacher, and she doesn't enjoy teaching in this way, and that she has asked them to write down aspects of new york city as their home work assignment. She also tells me that she has little to no expectations. I don't know what to expect, but when I get there I understand. Her demeanor changes entirely, she has a complex system of punishment to keep the students in order, but they are beyond order. She says that its getting better, that they understand that there are certain repercussions for their actions, but by the end of class numerous kids are given extra homework; writing lines, copying pages, etc. as a means of punishment. One girl always talks back, does nothing except sighs and holds her head throughout the class. She tells me that she and her had a disagreement early in the sermester and that she has no hopes of turning her into a decent student because she has too much pride to change her behaviour at this point. I empathize with both of them. The teacher is not upset with her, she's more disappointed because she doesn't know what to do about it either, she still has to teach her class. She empathizes too, its nice to know that despite her harsh stance with the students, she understands.
After this class, I have a bit of time to kill before the next class that I'll be joining. I go outside to smoke a cigarette, not quite sure where I should be smoking. Smoking alone, in the parking lot, a couple students come up to bum a smoke from me. I don't know if I'm allowed to, but of course I do. Turns out the boy is a british kid from essex who likes modeselektor, and dislikes the whole justice / ed banger fad. He's watched them go from nobodies at a little open mic bar that he hangs out at to having bodyguards and massive air time in mcdonalds. He's also in love with detroit techno and ghetto-tech, cool. He tells me that all the seniors at this school are great but to watch out for the 2nd years, they're a pain in the ass. I was already under this impression.
My last class was fun, it was a different teacher, and she was teaching them Australian colloquialisms. She tells me before the class that I should be introducing myself as Mr. Gray and not Andrew, obviously not something I'm used to. I reply with the first cliché that comes to mind, "Mr. Gray is my father's name, I've always been Andrew to this point." After a brief exercise, she brings me into her lesson. Without much of an introduction (she tells them that I'm from Canada and will be an english language assistant at the school) she has them break into groups of two and write down 5 questions, 3 about myself, 2 about canada. I feel like a show and tell prop. It seems like all the questions they had to write down were about me, because she had to fish them for questions about Canada, and it would be dead silent, but otherwise there was a torrent of hands being raised.
A couple questions they asked:
q:What do you like about Paris?
a: I like the old architecture
this is much too complicated for them, and the teacher has me repeat it until they understand.
q:Do you have a girlfriend back in Canada?
a:*smile* Its complicated.
I don't think they understand. And the teacher, thinking this is an awkward question, for the first time, doesn't ask the class: "do you understand?" and have me repeat my answer. I wouldn't have mind clarifying. But it was one of those questions that High-schooler's ask and everyone snickers, why is it so taboo to ask?
